The Dark Side of Light
by dmnq8
Summary: 'After all, what was light without dark? Thor thought good existed in spite of evil, but Loki knew, as few did, that there was no good without evil. One did not exist without the other.' - For CookieZZ. Thorki. Set immediately after events in The Avengers. Disclaimer in my profile.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: For **CookieZZ**. Last summer, I was the victim of a brutal rape at his hands, cruelly and maliciously assaulted with Thorki images and GIFs. Nine months later: this.

May it please him. -.-'

* * *

**The Dark Side of Light**

Chapter 1  


It wasn't waking to find himself surrounded by his brother and the assortment of freaks he called friends. It wasn't the discovery that those same freaks had soundly beaten his vaunted army. It wasn't being cuffed and muzzled like a beast soon after this discovery. Nor was it his ignoble return to Asgard, prisoner of his insufferably self-righteous brother. No. It was none of those things.

It was the eye. That one eye his father had, and the way it rested on him when he and Thor arrived at what was left of the Bifröst. The _contempt_ in that eye. The subtle curling of his father's lip, as if the mere sight of his wayward adopted son turned his liver. It was the way his father couldn't seem to prevent himself from turning his head away from him, as if unable to endure his face. _This_ was what told Loki he was defeated. That there would be no resurrection to glory at some later date, that all mercy and forgiveness were now things of the past. That he had finally transgressed all bounds.

Lowering his head, he glanced to his right, where Thor stood calm and powerful, ready to receive his praise.

-oOo-

There was a reception waiting for them on the Bifröst. Heimdall stood tall and aloof as always, his eyes missing nothing. Thor fancied he saw the faintest wink of approval crack his stoic visage at seeing Loki's restraints, but it was the others he glanced at when the light of their arrival faded. His mother, regal and disapproving all at once. Sif, Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun, all of them grim-faced. Their eyes swept Loki from crown to heel, before settling on him. He answered their unasked question with a curt nod. This seemed to be the cue they needed; as one, they all turned to the other who'd come to wait for his return.

His father, the king. Odin sat his steed motionlessly, as Thor released Loki's arm so that he could stride over and bow his head. As he did, he held up the Tesseract in both hands.

There was a moment of silence that stretched on. Thor nearly raised his head again in question, but he felt the Tesseract taken, and then his father's large hand settling on his head. "You have done well, my son."

Thor straightened at last. He was sure he hadn't missed the slight emphasis put on those last two words. And when he saw his father's eye rest briefly and dispassionately on Loki, his suspicions were confirmed. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Father."

Cradling the Tesseract in one arm, Odin wheeled Sleipnir around in preparation to leaving.

"And the prisoner?" Thor said quietly.

"See that he does not ever again feel the warmth of sun nor the taste of wind."

"Yes, Father." He dipped his head once more in response.

"And Thor."

"Yes, Father?"

"He is your responsibility. You sought him, brought him, and believe in him still. I wash my hands of him." Not once did that great helmeted head turn around during this pronouncement.

Thor stared at the kingly cloak he hoped to wear someday and lifted his chin. "As you will."

Odin's departure was watched until he was out of sight, before Thor turned to find his friends waiting for him to speak. He didn't. After staring off into the void that marked the jagged ends of the Bifröst, and at Heimdall's impassive features, he took his brother by an arm, jerked him close, and let Mjölnir carry them toward Asgard's golden domes and spires.

* * *

_The prisoner, _Loki thought. _Father may think Thor still believes in our brotherhood, but he cannot even say my name. _His eyes squinted at the wind of their passage, noting every detail, and the fact that the city was now behind them._ Father has washed his hands of me. I wonder, does that mean I will truly be left in some netherworld or will someone, some lowly Asgardian, be assigned to my care? Perhaps it will be some creature Father deems immune to my charms, some…beast that will further emphasize my fall from grace. 'Look,' they will say. 'There stands Loki, once a god, now only fit company for monsters and degenerates.' Well. I am still a god._

They arrived at a place on the outskirts of civilization. A mausoleum of ancient design. A brief glance before he was shoved inside showed him a field, barren of all life, and dotted with similar structures. Once inside, there was a moment, wherein he saw artifacts, spoils of war that held no power and were of little value, and then Thor bent to wrap his fist around a great iron ring in the stone floor. He pulled up a section of this floor thus, a section bigger than their two bodies combined, and Loki saw a dark pit. Foul air swept up and stirred their hair. Then a hand smacked against his back and sent him tumbling.

The fall was long and long. As per the dictates of Asgard, he fell farther than mere space would allow. It was not a distance measured by feet or leagues, but by time and magic. He was not moving downward, but upward. Through some rift in the fabric that comprised his perception of the worlds around him. He well recalled mentioning that there were many secret ways in and out of Asgard, but this…this was not one of them. Near the end he grew frightened; he wouldn't put it past his father to send him to _Hel_, but he wasn't dead. And passage to _Hel_ required much more than a fall.

-oOo-

Thor joined him at the bottom, or wherever it was he ended up. It was a long, low-ceilinged cell, that much he could see, with the hole he'd fallen from in the center of the ceiling. Windowless. Featureless. The same dark, yellowish stone mirrored in walls and floor, covered by some earthy, mossy growth. He was being tugged up and pulled to one wall, where his darling brother seemed only too happy to fit manacles around his wrists. Then, and only then, did those blue eyes find his, the first time they'd done so since leaving Earth. Thor stepped close. Close enough so that his heat washed over the chill this cell had put on his skin.

"The All-Father himself constructed this place," Thor murmured. "As such it is immune to sorcery. To your witchcraft." As if to demonstrate the truth of this, he reached up and undid the muzzle, dropping it to one side.

So they'd feared he would utter a spell to free himself? How naïve. Loki studied the broad face, from the frowning blond brows to the golden stubble dotting that square jaw. "And you, brother?" he said softly. "What of you, are you immune?"

A grunt, before the taller man turned and walked away a few steps. "I have been burned by you too often to fall prey to your trickery anymore."

Comprehension dawned as he stared at Thor's red cloak. "_You_. You are my jailor. My, my. Is it as Father said and you are the only one who can stomach the sight of me now? Or have you fallen from his eyes as well?"

There was blue fire in the glance that arrowed his way. Perhaps even disgust. Thor was gone soon after, hanging to the strap attached to Mjölnir after he'd thrown it, so that he was carried through the hole they'd arrived by.

* * *

A cursory inspection showed that his chains allowed movement. He could sit or recline, as the mood took him. Gathering his cloak around himself, he slowly slid down the wall until he was squatting on the balls of his feet, and lost himself in thought.

_Had_ it been their father who'd sent Thor after him? He'd thought so, but he could be wrong about that. The more he considered it, the more it seemed likely that a man who could not look at his adopted son, who'd washed his hands of him, would most likely be a man who would not trouble to concern himself in anything that son did elsewhere. _Unless he feared for Earth's inhabitants? Feared the shame I would bring to Asgard with my actions? _That was what he'd thought, at seeing Thor arrive in that plane. That something he'd done had finally gotten his father's notice. That was, after all, why he'd set out to be king elsewhere. To show his father that he _could_ rule.

_But no, he said that _Thor_ sought me and brought me. That _he_ believes in me still. _That would suggest that Thor had acted on his own.

Heimdall. Heimdall had great pride in Asgard. He would have been able to see his actions no matter where he'd gone; he hadn't tried to hide his actions from the gatekeeper this time. It was Heimdall to whom he'd said there were secret ways in and out of the realms. Heimdall would have made it his business to learn of these ways. _He_ had sent Thor…because Thor asked to be sent. When he and Thor had nearly been swallowed by the destruction of the Bifröst, Odin had made it clear then which son he chose. As he'd always chosen. He'd let him fall to oblivion and had not troubled himself to search him out. He could have. He could have had Heimdall track his whereabouts, but Loki knew he hadn't.

Thor, however. Thor never ceased seeing him as a brother. Never gave up on him. Even then, after he'd tried to have him killed. After he'd lied to him, and kept him in exile on Earth. Thor had begged him not to fall, had wept…

Loki's eyes narrowed at a fissure in the stone floor, recalling their arrival. The praise he was sure would be heaped on Thor's head _had_ been a bit scarce, hadn't it? In fact, the entire group had been a bit too silent, considering the danger Thor had returned from and his success in bringing him. So it really had been an unauthorized mission, after all. And the single line of praise Thor had managed to receive, that grudging 'Well done, my son,' ...that had only been said when Thor had presented the Tesseract. That had been the real prize in Odin's eyes, not his adopted son's return to the fold.

Something in Loki died a bitter and silent death. It had never been a particularly healthy thing to begin with. Nothing like the robust and vital sense of self-worth that Thor carried, but it had been with him his entire life just the same. Growing up in the shadow of his father's favoritism toward Thor, it had never thrived. It had always been a sickly little thing, painstakingly nurtured by Loki nonetheless. Nurtured by his ignorance. His belief that he was Odin's son, and thus entitled to recognition and acceptance. To love, unconditional. He could not understand how Thor –arrogant, beastial, _hateful_ Thor- could win so much love from all who beheld his golden beauty. Couldn't they see past his pretty face? Could they not see that though one was the get of Odin's mighty loins, and the other not, one of them was clearly more suited to rule than the other? The one who _wasn't_ Thor Odinson? How could they view Thor's stupidity and bloodlust with favor? How could they smile at his tantrums, ignore his boasting? There had been times beyond counting when Loki had known the urge to murder Thor in his bed for the sheer amount of boasting he did. Arrogant didn't even cover it; his brother had redefined the word. He himself had been Thor's opposite. Intelligent. Quiet. He spoke when spoken to, learned his studies well…but it had never been enough. _Thor_ had been given Mjölnir. And the sickly thing in his breast, his yearning for acceptance, to be loved as Thor was loved by all…that had never flourished. Always, it had been weakened by Odin's clear preference. By his own jealousy. By his inability to win the popularity that Thor had.

Stubborn as his nature was, he hadn't given up hoping even when Odin let him fall. But now…now it was done. His father would rather see Earth destroyed than come after him or acknowledge him. His father, who had let the Jötuns enter the weapon's vault without retaliation so that a war might be avoided. His father had no love of the Jötuns either, but had let them walk free, rather than start needless bloodshed. Yet this same god had let Earth burn beneath Loki's hand rather than come after him. _How much my father must hate me to let that happen._

Hope died, leaving a void that was slowly filled with other things.

_No. I have no father, _he thought at length. Laufey had even left him for dead due to his small size. And now Odin had done the same, not once but twice. He had nothing. No one. He was defeated at last.

Adrift, his mind eventually settled on Thor.

Now that he had it all sorted out, it made sense why the perfect and exalted Thor was tasked with his care. Despite bringing the Tesseract, Thor had undertaken a mission without his father's approval. There had to be _some_ punishment. He could well imagine how vigilant Thor would be in an effort to lessen any further disapproval in Odin's eye. The blond bastard had indeed fallen from on high. A little bit.

Loki smiled. Thor _would_ be vigilant. But Thor, after all, was Thor.

Did it please him that, when it seemed he had no one, he still had Thor? No. Thor was nothing. After his exile, he was now _less_ than nothing in Loki's eyes. A weak-natured, puling champion of a race of lesser beings. Just remembering the love Thor bore that woman Jane... A mortal. An ugly, weak, _mortal_ woman, when there were goddesses throwing themselves at his feet, powerful beings of unrivaled beauty. No, Thor was nothing special. _To think that I once wanted to be his equal…_

He shuddered. Others might be fooled, but not him. They thought Thor knew humility. Had been humbled. Was now a fit prince of Asgard. _His humility is the worst arrogance, for it is false! _he thought in sudden rage. He would never, not as long as he lived, see Thor as anything other than the conceited, prideful, egotistical, and utterly loathsome boy who'd demanded that all attention remain on him. Never. Let all others think the light shined out of Thor's arse, but he knew better.

_Thor, with his misbegotten notions of good and evil, right and wrong, _Loki thought as he wrapped his cloak tighter about himself. _Thor, the bright and promising heir to the throne. Given everything he's ever wanted, but never earned. I have been in his shadow since infancy. I _am_ his shadow._

Where this thought came from, he didn't know, but it brought him up short. An intriguing notion, him as Thor's shadow. The implications were startling. Thor might be ignorant of the true nature of things, but there _was_ light and dark, good and evil, and the two _were_ intertwined. After all, what was light without dark? Thor thought good existed in spite of evil, but Loki knew, as few did, that there _was_ no good without evil. One did not exist without the other. They birthed each other, fed each other…and were interchangeable. Light and dark were so inseparable that one could become the other with the right encouragement.

There was a reason Thor didn't abandon him: because he couldn't.

He looked at his muzzle, where Thor had dropped it. An amused expression lit his eyes from within, making them crinkle at the corners. _You fools fear the wrong things, for the wrong reasons. _

He _was_ happy Thor had been assigned to him, he decided. Alone in his cell, already freezing despite the frozen origins of his birth, his happiness wasn't much, yet it was something. _Far more than Odin should have allowed me, had he any sense. _But when he thought of the All-Father consigning his legitimate son, his only heir, the bright light of the kingdom of Asgard to some cell outside creation –for an unknowable length of time, no less- with an individual he himself couldn't bare to look upon…well, Loki concluded that Thor The Great and Powerful had to have gotten his stupidity from someplace.

He settled down to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Mild reference to the second Thor movie, out later this year.

* * *

Chapter 2

He could recall only two instances in his life when things had been perfect. When events had played out as he felt they were meant to, when he had been truly happy and had felt as if he belonged with his family. For a wonder, both instances were rather recent events. The lesser of the two was surely the moment he'd killed Laufey. His mother had turned to him with love and pride brimming in her eyes, and praise on her lips. She'd run to him to throw her arms about his neck and praise him. That moment was the sweetest of his life. The only moment of true kinship he'd ever felt with her. How he cherished that embrace in his memories, reliving it often. Her look, the run, her arms.

Then Thor had ruined it, as he always seemed to ruin everything. He could never do anything as a boy, accomplish anything, without Thor first mocking him and then setting out to do it better. Invariably, Thor would receive more lavish praise than he ever had for doing the same deed.

Ah, but the second moment he cherished involved Thor. It was that scene, that unbelievably glorious scene at the Bifröst when they'd all returned from Jötunheim. Long had he resigned himself to being the only one able to see Thor for what he was, but on that day –blessed day! - so had Odin. There he'd stood, watching in fascination as Thor uttered things to the All-Father he himself would not have dared, when lo! It seemed the infallible Thor had at last gone too far. To hear Thor called a vain, greedy, cruel boy? To hear him branded as unworthy? _Thor?_ Un_worthy_? His knees had weakened, the pleasure of Odin seeing the truth of his obnoxious son at last was so great. But it was after, when Thor was banished, that he'd known true ecstasy. He had waited a lifetime for someone to give Thor what he deserved. He'd offered a token protest at the time, ever mindful of the part he played in his family, but inside he'd been beyond ecstasy. Transported. _That_ had surely been the greatest moment of his existence, no question. He could hardly look back on it without flooding with emotion every time.

It had been all he could do to play the grieving brother to Thor's pets afterward, those three animals and Sif. In private was another matter. Alone, he'd writhed in mirth, unable to contain his joy. Never had there been richer fare than the justice of Thor's banishment; he glutted himself on the memory often.

That was where enjoyment ended, though. He didn't like to think of after, when he'd thought to ask Odin about the mystery of his skin-changing. No. He'd hoped to hear of some unknown power lurking in him, not that he wasn't Odin's son after all. That he was in fact the son of Asgard's enemies. If Thor's banishment was the greatest moment of his life, to learn that his dreams of love and acceptance would never be more than dreams was surely his lowest. He didn't think he'd ever experienced a greater pain than hearing Odin say he'd hoped to negotiate a peace with some child he'd found. Even now, thinking of it burned him from within. His current banishment only intensified it.

That sting would never cease, he knew, but continue to fester in him. He'd done much to ease the pain in a plea for recognition. Orchestrated Laufey's death, tried to rule Earth…but there was nothing to be done. He would never be seen as worthy, because he had never been seen that way. He needed to stop behaving as if he were trying to regain something he'd lost; he'd never had love and acceptance, therefore it followed that no act he committed now would win them for him.

He would never rule Asgard. Which brought him back to Thor.

Clothes were left for him the first time Thor returned. Rough, grey garments to replace his cloak and armor. He ignored them, along with the food and drink accompanying them.

-oOo-

Silence was the best strategy, he decided.

Thor's second return lasted longer than the first. Eyes lowered, he sensed his brother measuring the uneaten food, and noting the garments where he'd dropped them the previous day.

"Do you feign remorse with your downcast eyes?" Thor said gruffly. "Or are you too prideful to eat prison food and wear prison garb?"

He said not a word, either in answer or in protest, as Thor came to him and yanked him to his feet.

The chains rattled noisily as those rough hands stripped him of armor and dressed him in the simple open-necked shirt and trousers. Throughout it all he kept his eyes on the floor.

Thor stepped back, looking him over. "You're forgetting that I know you, Loki. There isn't a meek or subservient bone in your treacherous body. _Eat!_" The plate of food was kicked up toward his face. "Or not," Thor growled. "Perish here for all I care. 'Tis the least of what you deserve."

_By Odin's remaining eye, that brother of mine certainly is wroth with me, _he thought when he was alone again. He was pleased with his results, though. Manipulating Thor was child's play.

Inspecting his fouled clothing, he considered what was left of the food and drink. He wanted Thor to reach a certain point, but he didn't want him reaching it too quickly lest his entire plan fail before it started. For success to be his, the process had to be gradual, and in that manner, believable. Starving himself would be too dramatic in that case.

Some food remained on a corner of the plate. He ate it. The flagon of ale he drained to the last drop.

* * *

Loki did anger him, but it wasn't this that shortened Thor's temper. It was his father. He _had_ learned humility on Earth, and love had humbled him, but he was still god of thunder, Odin All-father's rightful son and heir. A part of him, albeit an unvoiced part these days, would always be convinced beyond doubt of his place in creation. Of his rights, his due. He'd helped save Earth, and had brought back Loki when no one else thought to do so. He did not deserve the onerous job of monitoring his sentence.

However, he had also learned respect. And no matter his private thoughts, he would never again disobey his father or second-guess his judgment. If his father thought that he, Thor, was the only one fit to oversee Loki, then there must be a reason. Odin never did a thing without reason. He, as his son, would either learn what the reason was when he was meant to, or else learn from the task itself whatever it was he was meant to learn. He would not complain.

It did not escape his notice, or anyone else's, that Odin never asked after the prisoner. Due to the nature of the cell, Thor was unclear on whether his father could see Loki or not. He rather thought not; it could not have been more obvious that when Odin said he'd washed his hands of him he'd meant it. Odin did not do half-measures or go back on his word; for the time being Loki was dead to him.

_Another reason I dare not complain or bring up his name. _As angry as he himself was with his brother, he couldn't deny that this saddened him. That their father could be so unyielding in his fury. He had no doubt that in time, once Loki had been sufficiently punished, amends could be made. Loki might not see Odin as his father, but surely Odin saw him as a son, albeit one that was dead to him at the moment. What parent could abandon their child for good? This hope comforted him. His mission to retrieve Loki hadn't been authorized, but neither had it been stopped. It could have been. He was powerful, but his father's might far out-stripped his own. And Loki _was_ being punished. Those were not the actions of an indifferent parent, just a severe one.

_It is just, _he thought. Loki needed some severity. And once he'd paid for his crimes, their father would welcome him back to the bosom of their family where he belonged. This thought smoothed the frown from his brow. _That_ was why he'd been left in charge of his brother. Because Loki was his family's responsibility. He almost smiled at this hidden act of love. There were more qualified jailors for Loki, surely, but his father kept him close. Not beneath his own watch, but the next best thing, which was him. That realization made the task much easier to bear.

But then his smile faded. His father laughed with him, ate with him, allowed him in council and at his side by the throne…but their interactions were still tinged with the faint sting of disapproval his unsanctioned trip to Earth had caused. Whatever else his appointment to Loki was, it was also a form of punishment. He would do well to remember that, and that his own relations with his father were far from ideal at the moment. In deference to this, he tended to keep his own head down and eyes lowered when around him. Until forgiveness was completely his, he would guard Loki well, and tread softly himself.

_Maybe that is what Loki's doing? Waiting for forgiveness? _Thor considered this carefully, as he recalled Loki's uncharacteristic silence. Retired to his chambers for the evening, he went to the balcony off his bedroom and leaned his elbows on the railing. Galaxies stretched overhead. Unlike Earth, it was never truly day, with deep blue skies and piles of clouds, though there was sunlight. The token atmosphere surrounding Asgard barely held a whisper of blue, a few fine clouds; beyond this one could clearly see the blackness of the cosmos. At night, this flimsy atmosphere was gone. Only the heavens hovered above Asgard. Stars, other realms. He gazed at these as he thought of his brother and the seeming remorse he displayed.

No. Loki's lies were legendary. His deceit boundless. This latest behavior was an act, he was sure of it. His cunning was without equal; it would be unwise to attribute any change of heart to his brother's new behavior. _I mustn't only be vigilant…I must be cunning as well. As cunning as he is. Care must be taken to guard my tongue. Any slip of information I give him could be used to his advantage. Nor will I take him his food at fixed hours. I will vary my visits, lest he find a pattern in my actions and exploit it somehow. _Making these plans, Thor had to swallow his unease. This kind of behavior was foreign to him. He was well aware that cunning was not his strong suit. His way had always been forthright action. He was made for the charge, for forging ahead and shaping events to his will by the strength of his two hands. Hanging back, strategizing, bringing about results through hidden means and layers of subterfuge…that was as alien to him as servitude had once been. _Yet if I can learn one, I can learn the other. _Although-

A hand slid over his shoulder. "What troubles the conquering hero?"

"Sif." Stifling a sigh, he turned to face her. He rarely saw her out of armor, as she was now. Her gown was elegant in its simplicity, the gentle folds highlighting the fact that she was a sensuous woman as well as a warrior. "You shouldn't have come."

A small, knowing smile. "I can handle your moods."

"It is not my mood for which I deny you. It is-"

"The mortal. I know."

He turned and resumed his perusal of the heavens. "I love her."

"I know that as well." She moved around him, coming to lean her elbows beside his. "And _you_ know that you can never be with her. Why can't things return to how they were between us? Love was never a part of our…dealings."

A soft grunt escaped him. He didn't have to turn his head to see her eyes; her lie was an old one, told more to protect her heart, he suspected, than to make him believe it. Sif had loved him since he was a boy. This was known in Asgard. "You should leave."

"Thor-"

"Go." The command lacked bite, but it was a command just the same.

He didn't hear her leave. When he was sure he was alone, he lowered his chin to his forearms.

* * *

For a time, nothing changed. His silence was met with silence in turn. Thor gave nothing away, neither by word nor action, though his eyes sometimes raked him from head to heel as if searching for threats. It was all he could do not to smirk at those glances, but he kept his face somber.

He ate of his food when it was brought, noting that sometimes he received food daily, and other times bi-weekly or even less frequently. There was no fixed routine. Nothing he could take hold of. More often than not, he let Thor find him in a supine position, his face turned to the wall as if he cared not when food was brought at all. He let his food reflect this; bit by bit, he ate less. Nothing too drastic or noticeable, but a steady progression all the same. Just when would be the right time to initiate the next phase in his plans he didn't know, but was confident that he would recognize the moment when he saw it.

-oOo-

Long before the moment arrived, Thor weakened. This was no surprise to him. If his oafish brother knew the meaning of a grudge, or even had the subtlety and strategy of mind to maintain one, things would go very differently from the way he planned. As it was, he thought his actions on Earth would have carried Thor's anger considerably farther, but apparently not. A day came not long after he'd been dropped into this hole when Thor arrived with a gentle smile of forgiveness softening his features.

Sometimes he allowed their eyes to meet briefly, if only to convey a sense of his 'shame' to Thor, so he happened to be looking at his face when the smile was given. He didn't smile in return, but neither did he ignore it. He let his gaze rest on it in longing for some seconds, before slowly lowering his eyes to his hands.

Thor had words as well, he found. "Are you well?" he said when he came over and set the plate of food down, not on the floor but in his lap. "Is there ought you need, brother?"

_As if you and you alone are not the only Asgardian with knowledge of my circumstances. Who would know better than you if I require anything? Do I _look_ well, brother? Have I bathed since entering this cell? Do I stand and shout for joy when you arrive? Do we have long, cozy talks? _He stared at his tray.

"Well," Thor finished awkwardly. "If there is, you need only let me know. I'm sure you can be allowed requests within reason. A book, perhaps. Or conversation. I can provide these things, and others, if your wants are not harmful. I believe you are misguided, Loki, but not beyond redemption. I am here for you. Father will come around, you will see."

And with that, Thor was gone. Once alone, he proceeded to scrutinize every word of the exchange, every gesture, as he selected a portion of his food to eat.

-oOo-

For a time, that was all. His silence was never broken, and he let the eye contact happen too seldom for Thor to smile at him often. Forgiveness was still his, though. Thor spoke to him in gentle tones of this and that. Nothing specific. Just an endless monologue of mundane things. Sometimes Thor would squeeze his shoulder or rest his large, hot hand on the side of his neck. These touches made him shiver, the contrast of the frozen cell and his brother's heat was so great. The cold didn't affect him, but it was felt. His brother's breath would steam out of him in his farewell, the hand would gently squeeze his neck, and then be withdrawn. It seemed to him that he only breathed again once the touches were concluded. He never had liked for Thor to touch him. His own feelings for his brother were altogether too volatile; a touch or embrace usually fed his urge to murder the man.

Thor did notice that he ate less. Sometimes he remarked on it, or on his continued silence. He would pose questions on his well-being, or else try to coax him to eat. Food was brought daily now, in increased amounts. At times Thor would sit with him, offering support in companionship, and perhaps hoping to tempt him to speech. But Thor had little patience, no matter his reformation, and he would always leave as if suddenly remembering fun and conversation elsewhere. As no doubt there was.

-oOo-

Gradually, a greater change did become evident in their interactions. How many months it was since his incarceration, he couldn't say, but he was down to subsisting on a pea and a few apple seeds… and it seemed that there was less calm cloaking Thor's broad shoulders. Less control. There was distraction. Worry. Annoyance, sometimes. Cracks in his portrayal of the loving elder brother. None of this was ever directly communicated. When Thor deigned to speak to him it was still only to inquire after his health, or to encourage him to eat more. But even these meager attempts at conversation were left by the wayside as time wore on. Thor brought his food and left. The daily rations were erratic once more, and sometimes forgotten for as long as a week. He suffered, but then he was a god. His constitution was considerably stronger than a mortal's.

This all seemed to come to a head one day.

It required more determination than he would have thought possible to keep from laughing at the way Thor burst into the cell. Mjölnir thrown aside, his food all but flung at his head. Thor checked himself at the last moment, setting the tray down rather roughly near his hip. For his part, he remained calm. He sat cross-legged, with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes lowered in submission. He contrived to have a somewhat sorrowful look on his face. Nothing too obvious, mind, but enough to mask the way he couldn't keep his eyes from sliding to the food tray. He had to swallow the rush of saliva in his mouth; his thoughtful brother had last brought food five days previous.

Thor paced up and down a few moments, bristling at the need to lash out. It was only with an effort that he calmed himself. He was better than this. Had better control than this. When his breathing had slowed, he stopped and braced his feet apart, facing Loki's bowed head squarely. "Brother." His voice shook a bit with his tension. "Loki," he began again, once he'd cleared his throat. "This penance you serve is an injustice to us both. I have thought on it. You are not without sense; petition Father, beg his forgiveness…and confess the error of your ways."

Without raising his eyes, he considered where this agitation on Thor's part could be coming from. The way it had built over a period of time and was now finally unleashed would suggest a specific cause. Something, some dire event must be upon Asgard. Nothing else would bring out such behavior in Thor. It cost him to hold his tongue –curiosity was a living beast within him, and the boredom he lived with was likewise savage in its intensity- but not as much as giving up his silence would. He stared at Thor's boots. _I do wonder what's happened?_

As if hearing the thought, Thor turned and paced to the far side of the long room. He braced his hands on the wall, and hung his head between them. A discreet flick of his eyes showed a weary sigh making his brother's shoulders rise and fall. A sound of…feeling. Much feeling, though what the feeling was, he couldn't tell. His eyes returned to his lap, but his every sense strained for understanding.

"Father rides to war."

This low, gruff whisper snapped his head up. He put it down again immediately, just as Thor straightened and turned to him with a look of pleading.

"Nothing is confirmed," his brother continued. "Nothing certain, but there are whispers. And when I sat in on the council…I learned that whatever happens I will remain in Asgard. In _Asgard_, brother, when a threat the likes of which the Nine Realms has never seen looms on the horizon. You must sue for peace with Father. Stand with us, that you and I may fight side by side as we once did. If all goes well, Father will forgive us both. But you must _try_. Will you?"

The moment, the one he'd been waiting for, now arrived and handed so neatly to him. The shock of looming war tickled him, but he sharply schooled himself. _I cannot waste this opportunity! Oh, but the gods favor me to hand me so much to work with, _he thought. He couldn't have asked for a better opening.

Again, the effort of keeping his face controlled nearly undid him, but he was nothing if not an accomplished actor. Working meticulously, being careful not to overdo it, he slowly turned his head aside, as if turning away from Thor's words. He let the tiniest frown of conflict mar his brows, while closing his eyes hard.

Seeing this, Thor felt a burst of hope. Always, his attempts to communicate with Loki were met with stoicism. This response, after nothing for so long… Moving quickly, he went to one knee before Loki and grasped his shoulders. "Brother. _Please_. Father was harsh, but your crimes demanded that he be so. He is a merciful man. And he will need us at his side, his sons-"

Loki's face abruptly clenched in a silent, but eloquent cry of anguish.

Thor stared, his hands faltering as the shoulders beneath them went through a convulsive shudder. Loki leaned against his hands. His dark head hung forward, and a sound, a choked sound of grief, was quickly stifled. Eyes wide, Thor hastened to correct his error. "No…brother, _no_, Father was angry when he said those words. He would not abandon his son –yes, his _son_- for eternity! You must trust what I say," he urged with a small shake of those trembling shoulders. "He must forgive you. He will. _Loki!_" He pushed against the shoulders, so that his brother's head fell back against the wall.

There were tears, Thor saw with amazement. Or almost. The eyes were glassy. He had never seen Loki cry. Never. Not as children, and certainly not as a man. A trickster to the last, but not one who'd ever employed tears as part of his trickery. "Loki?"

His brother was inconsolable. His grief didn't become loud or any more evident than the moisture shimmering in his eyes, but his pain was palpable, and clearly articulated with his red face and clenched expression. Alarmed, and angry now on Loki's behalf, Thor straightened. He backed away and held his hand out for his hammer. When it had soared to him, he thrust it up toward the hole, and was gone.

Loki turned to his food, selected a few peas, and matter-of-factly began eating. He chewed with his lashes still wet, gazing about his empty cell with lively interest. _My, but that was inspired. Outdid myself, yes I did. I wonder what he'll do? Like as not something stupid. Thor can always be relied upon to act first, think never. Gods, but I haven't been this diverted in an age. _His drink this day was mead, he saw. The spiced mead of the later months. Inhaling the aroma of cinnamon, raisins, and cloves, he drank sparingly. _And what of this threat he spoke of? Greater than we've ever seen? Brother dearest must be frothing at the mouth to leap into the fray, yet here he is with me as a yoke about his neck. He cares nothing for me, _he thought with quiet anger. _Only for the glory that would escape him should a battle unfold. _

Abruptly, he decided that his performance deserved a leg of fowl. He ripped it from the rest of the bird and took a moment to hold it to his nose while he inhaled its aroma. Dehydrated as he was, the tears hadn't quite gushed forth as he'd wanted them to, but the effort to call up any tears at all had contorted his face enough to have the same impact. An accomplishment, that. He was proud of himself. Grease ran down his chin as he bit into the meat with relish.

* * *

There was a knock, before the doors to their chambers opened. Odin and Frigga, conversing quietly before retiring, turned curious eyes toward the intruder. Thor strode in, face set. They waited through his brief bow of respect, but neither could imagine what could have brought on such an unorthodox visit.

"Father, Mother…my apologies for disturbing you here, but I must speak with you, Father."

Odin, sans eye patch, stepped down from the dais his bed stood on, but didn't descend completely to the floor. "What is it? Has war come?"

Thor pulled up short. "…No. But it concerns that. Loki-"

Odin's concerned expression closed up immediately. He turned away. "You are dismissed."

"But he-"

"Dismissed, Thor!"

"_Hear me!_"

This bellow shook the room, and had the guards stationed outside cautiously poking their heads in. Odin ignored them, turning back around to lay a withering glare on his son's face.

Thor rushed to speak. "He is changed. I can find no trace of the man he was. His remorse is genuine, I swear it. These past months he has declined. Eaten less. Become…listless, even. He holds the words you said on the Bifröst in his heart, and they pain him. I can see it. Never have I seen my brother in pain. Father, he _wept_."

Frigga gasped, where she sat on the bedside. She put one hand to her throat, the other on her husband's arm.

Encouraged, Thor took a step closer, holding his hands out to his sides, palms upward. "Please. If you do not forgive him, at least give him a chance to prove he has changed…that is to say, I changed, when you punished me. I was forgiven. Can my brother not receive the same treatment, if, as you say, we were always equal in your sight?"

Odin's eye never blinked as he slowly descended the remaining two steps and advanced across the room. Though his empty socket was unsightly, Thor fancied he saw the rest of the stern features softening. That there was something akin to pity in his father's pale gaze. This expression didn't change as a blow was delivered to his cheek that was like to take his head off. Such force was behind it that he went flying. He crashed to the far wall behind his mother's shriek, tangled in his cloak.

"I am Odin All-Father," his father breathed from somewhere above him. "You do not command me, nor disobey me, nor question my judgment. Nor do I explain myself to stupid _boys_. So I will say this but once.

"Even kings err. It was a mistake for me to take Loki. I should have left him in Jötunheim. The Frost Giants are a treacherous, war-hungry race; I should have known any offspring of theirs would be the same, no matter the environment he was raised in. But I did. I did take him, and so I am responsible for his hide. That, however, is as far as it goes. I will see he is kept out of further mischief in respect for my position as protector of the Nine Realms, but he is no son of mine!"

Thor stared up at him, jaws clenched tight against the words bursting to be free.

"I warn you," Odin continued in a lowered tone. "If you continue to go against me in this you will pay for it. Do you understand me?"

Slowly, Thor braced a hand against the wall behind him and pushed to his feet.

"I said do you understand me. If you ever hope to be king you will answer me, Thor."

"You are right," Thor growled. "I see it now, though why I never saw it before is beyond my ken. Yes, you brought Loki, but you never treated him as a son. Housed him, fed him, yes. Showed him kindness. But…" He had to swallow and look aside, as clear understanding welled inside him for what seemed like the first time in his life. "You never treated him as you did me," he whispered. "You never praised him as you did me, nor rewarded him to the extent you did your trueborn son. Now I think on it…it seems to me you held him down. Held back the words he craved, made light of the deeds he struggled with to make you proud. What was it? Did you fear he would best me? That he would prove the better man, a better king? Do you know, I truly believe that I was as horrid as I was, and Loki as jealous as he obviously is, through your negligence. What kind of king has two sons and tells them only one can ascend to the throne? Is that not a certain plan for disaster? For jealousy and spite? Worse, far worse Father, is the king who takes an innocent child and fills his head with notions of rights and love and kingship…when he knows he can never give that child those things. Loki is what _you_ made him, Father. He is _your_ creature, and now you cast him out as if he was simply an _error_ in _judgment_? He is my _brother_!"

Stiff with fury, Odin gazed at him. "Be silent," he hissed.

Thor's voice shook with the power of his rage, thunderous in the confines of his parents' chambers. "_I will not! _You are no father to him. A father wouldn't abandon his son as you've done, no matter what that son did. There would be a lesson given, as you gave me. Understanding. Forgiveness. Not this. Never this. If I _hope_ to be king, you say? I hope to be a man first, before I am king…and a man does not forsake his brother." He spun and strode for the door. After yanking it open, he stopped, his back still to the room. "And have no fear. I'll not disobey you again. _Father_." He slammed the door behind himself.

* * *

It was many days before he saw Thor again. He couldn't remember an absence so long. It was more than week. Much more. He was forced to eat the rest of his food, as he often was when these lapses occurred, but even parceling it out he went hungry for several days before his brother recalled him. Thirst was an ever-present companion. By the time his brother returned, he was hard-pressed to remember their last meeting and that he'd sent Thor away with the image of his tears firmly in his mind. To leap up and take the food from his hands now, after that performance, would have unbalanced all his plans.

Few knew it, but he was a disciplined man. Firmly ignoring the hunger that twisted his belly in knots, he waited in his corner. The scent of roast suckling pig made his entire body cramp in longing.

His brother's footsteps seemed heavier than usual. And when they'd reached him, the food was not immediately set down, as it usually was. Now that he thought on it, hadn't Thor been half-crazed at the prospect of war when last he'd come calling? What news on that front? The urge to lift his head, meet Thor's eyes, and ask all these things was almost too great, but he persevered.

The way his brother's warm weight slid down the wall to sit beside him startled him. He could see the tray of food, containing several steaming plates and not one, but two flagons of ale, resting on his lap. Thoughts of throwing himself at the tray were nearly pushed aside when Thor said in a wondering voice, "I don't know him. I thought I did, but…"

He could contain himself no more. The food was _right_ _there_, and Thor's cryptic comment, though curious, did not outweigh that fact. Moving as a beggar, he hesitantly inched his hand toward the tray. If he could just have a grape…

Thor seemed to recall himself at this movement and hastened to set the tray in his lap. He huddled over it, trying to curb his greed, and failing miserably. So shrunken was his stomach, that a single mouthful of ale had him too full to continue. Keeping his face bowed, he fondled a grape as he waited for his stomach to adjust.

" 'You lived in the shade of my greatness.' That is what you said to me on Earth. And before that, before you…fell, you said you'd only ever wanted to be my equal. Both times I could not understand why you carried such a view of imagined slights in your mind, but my eyes have been opened." Shifting so that his feet rested on the floor and his arms on his drawn-up knees, Thor studied his hands. He was dimly aware of his brother eating haltingly at his side. He must remember to bring food regularly after this. Loki was gaunt. He'd been in such a temper after leaving Father, though, that he'd left Asgard for a time.

"I idolized him," he continued some minutes later. "He was king of all and king of my world. I only ever wanted to be like him. To make him proud. To follow him and be considered as great. I didn't…I didn't think he could ever truly disappoint me, not once I'd come back from exile and seen the folly of my ways. Never did I think I could be ashamed of him."

Sated to the point of discomfort now, he turned and regarded Thor's face through the black tangle of his own hair. The great blond head was leaning back against the wall, and the blue eyes were dark with misery. Even as he watched, they closed. _What in the Nine Realms is he on about? Had Father-_

"No man should ever take a son, shelter him, nurture him, only to say later that he was a mistake. If a child does not turn out as a parent wants, who is to blame? He thinks it no fault of his, but I see it now. The slights were not imagined. The missed opportunities for praise, the way his smiles were always brighter for one and not the other. And then, when the child he raised thus turned and bit the hand that fed it, he cast him out."

Oh, this was rich. Odin had done what…reprimanded Thor and now the beast thought him the worst father in creation? Ever had it been that way, he thought as he turned back to his food. Thor thought he was owed every adoration, even now in his supposed humility.

"No son of his, he says. A mistake, he says. The get of a treacherous and war-hungry race, and so incapable of a better nature. As if the failure isn't _his_ fault, the result of _his_ actions. I used to think him so wise…never did I see arrogance in him until this night." Thor turned his head to spit in disgust and saw Loki looking at him. Eyes wide, hair hanging in his face, his brother was making prolonged and deliberate eye contact for the first time since his incarceration. So caught off guard was he that it was a moment before he realized that Loki's eyes were looking through him, not at him. "Loki?"

So. It wasn't Thor Odin found fault with after all. It was him.

He could hear Thor calling his name, feel the tray being lifted from his lap, and feel the heavy hand coming to rest on his shoulder, but somehow these things were very far away.

He distinctly remembered all hope dying in him when he'd been cast into this hole. What he hadn't realized was the fact that hope, by its very definition, never died a permanent death. It seemed that when he hadn't been looking, the emotion had slowly rebuilt itself inside him. During his interminable hours here, in the days and weeks and months of utter boredom, he had known bouts of self-pity. He could only assume that this had given rise to hope once again, hope that he would be forgiven at some point, and would be the son he was brought up to believe he could be. This was not merely a wish for Odin's recognition, but a wish for himself, as a man. He flirted with evil, dallied with it even, but on some basic level of his self-awareness he considered himself to be good. It was what he was raised as, after all, wasn't it? It was only that creatures of darkness seemed to understand him so much better, and provide the things he wanted with greater accuracy… So he'd hoped. Again. That he could change and come into his own. This was what he thought when he wasn't plotting about Thor, in his deepest, darkest, most private moments.

How had he not realized that telling himself that Odin had never loved him as he loved Thor, and hearing that Odin had said as much himself would be two completely different things? Ah…because when you told yourself a thing, it was easy to believe you could be wrong. That you were _probably_ wrong. But when a parent said a thing, it was nearly irrefutable. Yet to have the worst fears of his heart confirmed so baldly…

'…_incapable of a better nature…incapable.'_

Unbidden, his muscles all clenched in defense. Thor's hand on his shoulder squeezed in response, and…to his surprise, the tears he'd struggled for so bitterly at the last visit swelled within him easily now. Everything. Everything he had ever wanted or hoped to have always ripped away from him. As if it was a crime for him to even dream. _Why am I so hated? Why?_

Thor studied his brother's face. The single tear that rolled down his cheek at once broke his heart and made him long to smash something. He could hardly bear to look at it, but look he did as he answered the whispered question. He didn't think Loki was aware of speaking, but he moved his head closer to get his attention. "You are not hated, brother. Not by me, and surely not by mother. You have been wronged, I see that now. I hate myself for any part I played in that wrongdoing but I'll not abandon you. Not now, not ever. And Father…his memory is long, but I must believe that even he will come around. In time. Perhaps not soon, but eventually. I must believe that. I must, or I cannot look upon him as my king. Come, your sorrow grieves me greatly." He pulled him into an awkward sideways embrace, cradling his head. "Be at ease, brother. Be at ease."

Crushed against Thor's muscular side, with his head held to the beefy shoulder, Loki ignored the way his plan had succeeded with nearly no input from him. Instead, he thought on Thor's words, whispered even now into his ear. _You see, you didn't say I wasn't hated by Father. But he isn't my father, is he. There can be no ease for me. _This time he made sure to keep his lips pressed closed, repeating this phrase over and over to himself. Thor's arm squeezed him tighter, and another tear made it past his control. _No ease for me. __Never. Never. Never._

Unable to hold them back, the tears came in earnest.


End file.
